


Exhilaration (And the Bottling of It)

by Kimium



Category: Akudama Drive (Anime)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Character Introspective Fic, Dorks in Love, Fix-It, For You Know What, Gift Fic, Kisses, M/M, Mention of physical fighting, Oneshot, episode 6 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27944474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kimium/pseuds/Kimium
Summary: One shot. Canon Divergence. Fix-it Fic. Gift Fic."Brawler did a massive sweep of his leg, attempting to knock the Executioner onto his back. It didn’t work, but it did trip him up enough for Brawler to get a few more solid hits in. Warmth and joy sung in his soul. This was it. The pure state of living that he aspired to. Letting out another laugh, Brawler continued his assault, their tactics becoming messier and messier. Fairness did not exist when death sung so sweetly and all around them, like a siren sent by the god of war himself.If there could ever be a moment captured in time, bottled and preserved, Brawler wanted this one."Brawler fights to experience Exhilaration and believes this will be his last act. OR: Pupil doesn't check Brawler upon arrival, Hoodlum arrives a little bit later, and Brawler experiences a different kind of exhilaration.EDIT: This fic got a Chinese translation! Link is rightHERE.
Relationships: Brawler/Hoodlum (Akudama Drive)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 35





	Exhilaration (And the Bottling of It)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [M34GS](https://archiveofourown.org/users/M34GS/gifts).



> Hey, friendo!
> 
> Guess who was working on other gift fics for the holidays and was promptly hit with this idea?? So, surprise! You get an early gift fic?! Of course, this is not your Actual Gift Fic, but consider this a Very Early gift! I remember from our talks how much you love Brawler and I figured if I'm going to dive into writing for Akudama Drive, what better way to do so than write your favourite boy? I hope you like this fic!!
> 
> Hello everyone!
> 
> If you follow my tumblr you probably expected me to write something with Cutthroat but NOPE here is a Fix-It Brawler/Hoodlum fic! As stated above, this is a fic for my friend, M34gs. She really likes Brawler as a character and so I had to write a fix-it fic for her! Normally, I don't write fanfictions for series that aren't complete but for my friend I'm willing to make an exception.
> 
> This fic is fairly introspective so I hope I captured Brawler's personality and voice well enough. It's my first time writing for this fandom but I am very excited to post this. If you're new to me as a fanfic writer feel free to check out my other works. I mainly write for SDR2 and Fire Emblem Fates.
> 
> As always, please feel free to leave kudos and or comments. Those always make my day. Also, if you want to check my tumblr out or message me there, the link is right [HERE](http://www.kimium.tumblr.com).

It was only when his muscles ached from the repeated repetition of pushing forward, smashing into things and people, when his skin around the knuckles burst raggedly, smearing blood across his skin that Brawler truly could say he felt alive. Energy pulsed in thick hot waves of pure, unfiltered energy through his entire body, growing and growing like a star about to implode on itself. The heady pulsing of adrenaline, the shortening of breath, the tightening of the lungs, the heart, the flutter of butterflies trying to gnaw their way out of the stomach was stronger than any drug on the market (legal or otherwise).

Exhilaration. That was its name. That was what Brawler was feeling. Exhilaration: the dazzling white hot high that every person on the planet sought.

People had for millennia attempted to bottle, preserve, and commercialise on the commodity. They put it in tall fancy bottles and named it alcohol. They rolled and wrapped it in paper, pressed and molded it, or pounded it into fine dust and called it drugs, narcotics. Others pulled items off shelves, stuffing them into pockets, bags, backpacks, anything really. They donned masks or disguises, held cold metal weapons before taking and taking. The law called it theft, stealing. The ones in the masks and disguises called it their just rewards. Others sharpened metal, allowing the wicked edge gleam with both a metallic and blood-filled light. Again, the law called it murder, assault. They called it control, an outlet for their rage. Others pulled anyone they fancied into their arms, their beds, regardless of consequences and who they hurt. They called it love but in reality, it was merely lust attempting to transcend and morph into love.

Fools in Brawler’s mind. Why seek alcohol and drugs, why turn to theft and murder, why pull people into bed in a vain attempted to seek Exhilaration? Why turn to all of those worthless venues when fighting existed?

Once, one of Brawler’s opponents told him he was drunk on power. Brawler had laughed in their faces and proceeded to beat said faces into the pavement but in reality, he’d never experienced the taste of alcohol on his lips. Some people claimed it helped them fight, even developed a fighting style around it. Others called it unpredictable. Brawler called it reliance and weakness. Fights were meant to be a feat of pure strength, of raw power. No tricks, no weapons, no gimmicks. It was only when facing a worthy opponent, arms aching, lungs burning, muscles and bones screaming in agony, death nipping at the heels, that life was finally worth something, colourful and bright like those stupid neon signs all around the city.

Worthiness. It was one of the only reasons why Brawler had decided (rather generously) to forgive the Executioner for having a weapon on him. No wait, that petit girl at his side had called him Master. So, Master Executioner? Was that his title? Did it matter? Brawler wasn’t certain. Titles held meaning; words held power. They invoked something beyond the mortal coil upon a person, endowing them with powers that transcended the regular physical form. Personality was stripped away and the person became a vessel for the word. It was why his name, Brawler, was whispered with fear and reverence in the underworld, why the authorities said it with disgust, contempt, and horror. He was Brawler before the title of Akudama.

So, did that mean the Executioner was Master before Executioner? Or was it the other way around? Did it matter in the end? Probably not. The only thing that mattered now was the fight, the Exhilaration, the scythe of death begging to chop through their ankles, taking them down in mid stride. Death was swift but elusive at the same time and in this fight? Death was all but the over looming shadow around them, the rain that fell on their faces and the accompanying chill, the electric lights of the abandoned amusement park that burned a false light into their eyes.

If Brawler was to die here it would be a glorious death. They liked to say that in death there was no glory but Brawler had to disagree. Glory did not come in death but rather in the journey towards death. Death was the space beyond the finish line, the space everyone forgot. After all, in a race people only cared who broke the finish line ribbon first.

Cracking his knuckles and neck, Brawler inhaled roughly, tasting the air. Blood. Electricity, Rain. Killing intent. It was a thick, intoxicating sweetness that burned on the way down. Across from him was the (Master?) Executioner. Even with the distance between them Brawler could spot the blood on his pristine gloves, his white uniform, and across his face. His posture was steadied, ready to fight, no hesitation. Gone was the veiled, calculated mask he’d worn when they were ambushed in the hotel and on the Shinkansen. Perhaps it had been a mask he wore for his Pupil. Perhaps it had been a mask worn to lie to himself. What did it matter to Brawler?

“Giving up already?” He shouted the blatant lie, his voice echoing through the downpour. “I thought you Executioners had a bit more fight than this. Pathetic.” He spat a mix of saliva and blood to the ground, which was promptly washed away by the rain.

The Executioner’s postured tightened, his arms raising before he sprinted towards him. Brawler let out a hearty laugh, his pulse a while animal caged inside his chest and neck. With a surge of energy Brawler sprinted forward to counter him. Blow after blow. Fist against face, against fist, against anything that would hurt. Injury upon injury was exchanged, as though they were attempting to pay each other back for all the inconveniences draped upon them within less than 48 hours.

“Come on, come on!”

Brawler did a massive sweep of his leg, attempting to knock the Executioner onto his back. It didn’t work, but it did trip him up enough for Brawler to get a few more solid hits in. Warmth and joy sung in his soul. This was it. The pure state of living that he aspired to. Letting out another laugh, Brawler continued his assault, their tactics becoming messier and messier. Fairness did not exist when death sung so sweetly and all around them, like a siren sent by the god of war himself.

If there could ever be a moment captured in time, bottled and preserved, Brawler wanted this one.

Racing towards one another they grew more and more desperate in their fight. Time slugged onward, dragging them down and with blood flowing more and more freely from them death really was becoming a matter of time and fatigue. The moment one of them slipped up it would trip them head first into death’s scythe.

Just what he wanted. What else was there in this world to keep him tethered? Money? As if he took the job for mere cash. Fulfilling the job? Like Brawler cared for work ethic or seeing the two brats’ plan through. Companions? In this world no one was truly a friend. They were either there, existing or were enemies. The Doctor was too haughty, too smug. Courier was stone cold. Hacker had barely said three words to him. Cutthroat clearly off his rocker (though Brawler probably wasn’t the right person to be judging. Stones and glass houses and all that). Though, if Brawler was being honest Swindler wasn’t too bad, a little bit naïve, but firm in her beliefs.

(The slap to Cutthroat and standing up to the Doctor were admittedly Very Cool. Perhaps Brawler should have taken the time to correct her form, show her how to properly hurt someone with their hands. He was no help in the verbal department unless she wanted to learn some smack talk.)

And, of course, Aniki…

Brawler’s thoughts halted and snagged on the final member of their rag-tag heist team. Physically, Brawler outclassed the man in both stature and build but there was something undeniably appealing about the Hoodlum. Not that Brawler could pinpoint what exactly. The clothing was certainly nice but Brawler couldn’t give a shit about expensive clothing (except, perhaps, leather jackets). The man’s looks were also what most would call average, though his pompadour wasn’t a hairstyle one saw everyday.

However, there was something about his personality. How he could be both fearless and full of fear. How he laughed freely, smiling freely but within the same drop stare in shock and tremble. How he could easily boast and display pride all while somehow not being tainted by it. Sincerity. Was that the word to describe the other? No. Sincerity only got one in trouble when in the underworld.

Then, what was it? What drew Brawler to him? He was unsure but in the end it didn’t matter. Why attempt to reason something that didn’t need to be reasoned. Brawler liked the other and that was all there had to be on that matter. So, perhaps it was a bit of a shame that he hadn’t brought the other along to see his epic fight.

Maybe next time.

Shoving the thoughts away, Brawler half stepped, half stumbled into a punch. It glazed off the Executioner’s jaw but it was enough to cause them to step backwards and give some breathing space between them. The rain beat down harder and now that they paused, Brawler could feel the wound from earlier, a pressing, dull pain that flared up every so often in protest. Blood oozed out and mixed with the water, making it appear messier than it really was. A small shiver from the rain ran through him and with a huff Brawler shook his head and turned to the Executioner. He was hunched over, ragged and exhausted. For a moment silence filled the area, the rain’s sound muted. Then, the Ferris Wheel behind them lit up, as though the old cables, wires, and lights wanted one final chance to glow before burning out.

Fitting.

Smiling toothily, Brawler raced towards the Executioner. The man also raced towards them. Behind them the lights pulsed and glowed, a backdrop of orange and yellow to compliment their red blood staining their bodies and ground below them.

A crack. A beat of pure energy.

Then. Gravity. It tugged like the absolute force of nature it was and dragged Brawler to the ground with a dull thud. The bridge under his back was cold, wet, and the rain on his face glanced off in cool, even strokes. Swallowing, Brawler attempted to lift his arms. Nothing. Not even a twitch in muscle. All he could do was lay limply on the ground, the buzz and exhilaration from the fight slowly draining off him, his body limping towards the finish line and death.

Oh well. At least he died fighting. The true way a warrior should go. The true way someone with the title Brawler should go. He closed his eyes, only to open them again when footsteps, frantic and fast, echoed on the metal of the bridge. Brawler tensed, readying his hand. Was it the Executioner? No, impossible. He had to be down for the count. Then, perhaps his Pupil? She certainly would want to finish the job, push Brawler towards the finish line sooner. He held back a laugh. If she tried to kill him, he wouldn’t go down without a fight. Surprise attack was the best option now. He closed his eyes.

“Master!”

Ah, so he was right. The Pupil was there. The footsteps grew louder but instead of stopping by him they raced past him. Of course. Towards her beloved Master. Her voice soon became a steady plead against the night, against the rain. Sorrow mixed in the air the perfume that accompanied death at times. Brawler waited. Either soon she’d realise her Master was dead or she’d worry that he was alive and come for him. Any minute now…

Her voice grew softer. Her footsteps softer toon. Brawler waited. And waited. Nothing. He opened his eyes, staring up at the stormy sky. Was she not coming over to check on him, see if he was truly dead? How naïve. How amateurish. Though, given his state, it wasn’t as though he’d miraculously come back to life. Maybe he was the naïve one, believing she’d come to end his life quicker. Maybe in the end he’d slowly edge towards death…

“Koudai!”

A flash of sound, a gaged cry and plead filled the air. Then, knees thumped loudly beside him, pants soaking up the rain water. Brawler stared up at Hoodlum, who’s eyes were wide, fear and relief painted in broad, thick strokes.

“H-Hey.” Brawler’s voice was softer than he could ever remember it being.

“You… you’re alive!” His voice cracked. “You’re fine!” His gaze then scanned downward. “Oh, shit, you’re bleeding. There’s so much blood!”

“I-It’s fine,” Brawler attempted to tell him. “W-water mixed in.”

“No, no, save your energy. Don’t talk.” Hoodlum frantically began to pull his suit jacket off, pressing it to the side. It was warm from his body heat. “Direct pressure! No, wait I need to clean this. No, wait!” He kept one hand on the jacket, bunched against Brawler’s side. “Can you sit up? We can find Doctor. I know where they all are. She… she’ll have to do something. I…” His voice trailed. “I’ll make her!”

Brawler found his lips twisting into a small smile. “Y-yeah. Of c-course, you w-will.”

Hoodlum offered very small smile in return before it faded. He then reached behind Brawler, attempting to hoist him up. A difficult task for most, yet somehow, he managed to tug Brawler up, cradling his upper half to his chest. (Maybe this was like those documentaries that talked about parents suddenly able to lift cars to save their children, their loved ones?) Brawler leaned in and savoured the further heat from Hoodlum.

“Okay, good. You can sit up,” Hoodlum said under his breath. “Now, how to get you up? Can you stand?” He raised his voice.

Could he stand? Good question. Brawler concentrated his energy to his legs and attempted to bend his knees so he could stand. His legs wobbled like an unsteady chair on three legs instead of four but with a surge of energy, Brawler managed to stand, heavily leaning on Hoodlum. His weight buckled the other man but he didn’t let go, didn’t stop pressing his suit jacket against the bleeding side.

“Great. Great.” Hoodlum kept muttering. “Now, if we can just… find a way to transport you…” He tugged a little bit on Brawler before turning to him. “Can you walk? Shuffle? Something?”

“Something?” Brawler repeated. “I’m not dead.” Possibly yet. “I can manage.”

He attempted to puff himself up and assist Hoodlum in walking. They managed an impressive five meters of painfully slow walking, but were zig-zagging, unable to keep a straight line. One wrong step and Brawler found himself half falling into the side of the bridge, against one of the mighty arches that were there for design both architectural and aesthetic. Groaning, Brawler rested against the metal for a second. Hoodlum’s grip slipped slightly but he pressed closer, as though anticipating Brawler collapsing back to the ground. Not that it would do any good. If Brawler went down, he’d take Hoodlum down for sure. Glancing down at the other, Brawler ended up catching his eyes.

Beyond the orange tinted frame of the round glasses, Brawler could see the other’s eyes. Now up close and in a moment of stillness, he registered the colour of them. Were they always this green, so light that under a certain glow they’d appear a golden green, like the leaves in autumn slowly changing colour? Leaning closer, Brawler caught a warm pink and very bright flush across Hoodlum’s face. A small wave of dizziness finally hit Brawler and his mouth disconnected from his brain.

“Your eyes are green,” He blurted out.

“H-huh?”

“Like those leaves in autumn.” Brawler continued to voice his thoughts. “Always liked autumn. It’s my favourite season.”

Hoodlum’s eyes widened and the pink turned into a deep red. He spluttered and glanced at his feet, shuffling a little bit. His throat also bobbed with a deep swallow and suddenly Brawler’s heart stopped for a fleeting second.

Fighting had been his exhilaration, his drive. Earlier and frequently, he’d scoffed at what others desired, what others sought, but in this moment, Brawler had a moment of clarity. Small as it was, suddenly the idea of having someone at one’s side in their arms was very appealing. Foreign as the notion was, Brawler found the warmth crawling in his heart not unpleasant. Like the glow of victory after a battle, this glow also pulsed and radiated within.

Reaching out with his other arm, Brawler touched Hoodlum’s face in a touch that was so gentle, so soft that it too was foreign. Hoodlum jumped and glanced back up at Brawler. The blush hadn’t faded. It had darkened even more. His bottom lip was caught between teeth. Brawler’s blood pulsed behind his ears and just like a fight, he pushed head first. Leaning down, he attempted to catch Hoodlum in a kiss. He missed, kissing the side of his mouth but the warmth sung in his blood, soaring with exhilaration.

“K-Kou-d-dai?!” Hoodlum squeaked out. “W-What are you d-doing?”

Brawler pulled back a little bit. “Kissing you.” He then paused. “Attempting to. Let me try again.” He leaned in. Hoodlum squeaked louder. Brawler paused, his brain reminding him that unlike fights kisses were things people generally preferred permission. “Okay with you?”

Hoodlum’s jaw fell slack. Brawler patiently waited. Suddenly the blood being soaked up in the jacket was the least pressing matter. All he wanted was Hoodlum’s answer. A long (too long) minute passed before Hoodlum spoke.

“Y-You mean it?”

“Why would I not?”

“Ah.” Hoodlum once again bit his lip, though briefly, before staring up at Brawler. “Truly?”

“Yes?” Did Brawler give him the impression that he didn’t want to kiss him?

“You’re b-bleeding. T-This is hardly the time…”

Hardly the time? Didn’t action movies have the hero and love interest kiss after the battle? Surely, this counted. Unless Hoodlum thought they’d… do more? His blood sang at the idea but practicality settled in.

“Just a kiss,” Brawler clarified. “Other things can wait till later.”

“O-Other THINGS?” Hoodlum all but screeched out before he inhaled slowly. “Sorry. Uh… I um… yes.” He blurted.

That was as good of permission as any. Brawler leaned forward once again and with careful consideration, pressed his lips against Hoodlum’s. It was a soft kiss, a far cry from the kisses gifted by his knuckles to his opponents but somehow it ignited a fire inside Brawler. The exhilaration was just as strong, if not stronger, than the thrill of a fight. A different sort of strength but not an unwelcomed one.

Brawler savoured it and thought, perhaps, he’d correct his earlier statement. If he could bottle a moment, he’d choose this one.

Pulling away all too soon, Brawler attempted to regain his balance. The promise of other things couldn’t come to fruition unless he got some medical help. A little painful to admit but if it meant more kisses with Hoodlum then Brawler could swallow his pride.

“Let’s go.”

“R-Right. Let’s.”

They ambled off the bridge. The lights of the Ferris Wheel flickered one last time, sparking again like an ember attempting to become alive once more, before fading.

**Author's Note:**

> Drunken Fighting: An actual fighting style. People who practice it do so because it makes their motions unpredictable for opponents.
> 
> Aniki: Means older brother. In Brawler and Hoodlum's case they're using it akin to gangs/yakuza who use the term as a form of respect.
> 
> Koudai: The term Hoodlum uses for Brawler which is akin to "younger brother". Like with Aniki he's using it in response to Brawler's "Aniki" and within the same context of gangs/yakuza.
> 
> Doctor: Hoodlum says this because at this point in time they don't know of her betrayal to the Executioners.


End file.
